


When He Calls

by TheorianDG



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Come Swallowing, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Humiliation, M/M, Masturbation, Steo Week 2020, dehumanization kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26714995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheorianDG/pseuds/TheorianDG
Summary: He doesn’t want to think about what Stiles said. He refuses to be the pathetic type of person who lets themself be used by someone who so clearly hates them. Some day, he’ll stop doing this. He’ll stop coming whenever Stiles calls.Someday.
Relationships: Theo Raeken/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43
Collections: SteoWeek 2020





	When He Calls

Theo’s sitting in his truck, finishing off the last of a bacon cheeseburger when his phone buzzes with a text message in the passenger seat next to him. He knows exactly who it is without even needing to look. He considers ignoring it but knows all too well that he can’t resist. He swallows, crumbling the paper wrapper in his hands and tossing it in the backseat, hastily grabbing his phone. 

As expected, it’s from Stiles and as usual, he leaves no room for Theo to turn him down.

**Stiles** : You’ve got ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.

He hesitates only for a moment, staring at the screen of his phone before revving the engine of his truck and getting on the road. Theo tries not to feel excited, tells himself the reason he’s going twenty over the speed limit is only because he wants to get this done as quickly as possible. It’s a blatant lie, but it's better if he just pretends that the only reason he’s still doing this is that he needs to play nice with the pack.

It doesn’t take him long to reach the Stilinski household. After things with Monroe came to an end, Theo had gotten himself a small apartment in the middle of town. It meant he was never far from any one member of the pack if they needed help. Given his probationary status among the pack, it was advantageous, in theory, to be able to go do  _ whatever _ it was they needed quickly.

Of course, no one has actually called on him. No one but Stiles.

Parking in the driveway, Theo takes a deep breath and gets out his truck. Thankfully, Sheriff Stilinski isn’t home this time. Theo makes his way to the front door, unsurprised to find it unlocked but as soon as he opens it he has to stop in his tracks. 

He should be used to it by now, but the scent of Stiles’ arousal still hits him like a punch in the gut. The overwhelming feeling of  _ want _ stirs within him, no matter how much Theo fights to push it down. His desire is only moderated by his phone going off again in his back pocket. 

**Stiles** : Get up here now. I’m almost done.

Theo shuts the door behind himself and takes the stairs two at a time. He continues trying (continues failing) to convince himself that he’s better than this, that Stiles doesn’t have any power over him.

That he shouldn’t obey, not like  _ this _ . Theo knows he should leave, he should turn back, and never allow Stiles to treat him like this again. 

Yet, when Theo reaches Stiles’ bedroom door and sees him sitting there at the edge of his bed, wearing nothing but a shirt, his legs spread wide, and his obscenely long fingers wrapped around his thick cock? Every ounce of resistance in him dies at the sight, his breath catches in his throat and he licks his lips in anticipation. 

“Finally,” Stiles hisses through clenched teeth but he doesn’t stop, his hand gliding along the slick length of his cock. It’s sickeningly hypnotic, Theo can’t look away, can’t force himself to do anything but watch. Stiles barely looks at him before barking out an order. “Get over here and get on your knees.” Theo obeys without question, falling to his knees in between Stiles’ legs and taking in the vision before him.

Stiles doesn’t really acknowledge him after that. Theo sits and observes, so close he can practically taste the pre-come dripping from Stiles’ cock. Theo’s not sure when he started to crave this when this became more than just a task to get Stiles to smooth his way into the pack. 

It’s been so long since the first time this happened since Stiles called him over in the middle of the night and made Theo watch him. He’s so transfixed, so wrapped up in the scent and that he doesn’t notice he’s been edging closer until Stiles kicks him in the chest, knocking him back. “You don’t get to touch me.” He says it matter-of-factly. He’s not mad, it’s like he can’t believe after all this time that he still has to say it.

It’s nothing new, Stiles laid down the rules ages ago but Theo can’t help but try. “J-Just let me-”

“No.” Stiles takes his hand away long enough to pluck a bottle of lube from his nightstand, squirting a generous amount into his palm. Stiles points the floor in front of him, Theo scrambles back to his place on his knees without even needing to be told. “Get ready.”

Theo should be better than this. 

It’s not like he’s above using his body to get what he wants but that’s just it, Stiles never actually  _ uses  _ him. Stiles never lets Theo please him, Theo’s only purpose here is to watch and be a living receptacle for Stiles’ come. Stiles’ hand wraps around his cock, wet and glistening, the sound of him rapidly jerking himself causing the hardness in Theo’s pants to ache with yearning. 

He’d been surprised after the first time this happened. Stiles kicked him out as he always had since, but his behavior began to change. When they’re alone Stiles still treats him like crap, barely acknowledges him at all. Around the pack, though, he actually listens when Theo proposes something. The trade-off is unusual, to say the least, but Theo hadn’t expected to get  _ anything _ out of it to begin with.

So, as Theo leans forward and parts his lips in waiting, he tells himself that’s why he does this. That he’s only here on his knees, waiting for Stiles to come so that Stiles will keep supporting him around the pack. Stiles’ acceptance will make it easier for him to be accepted by the others.

It’s not because he’s holding out hope. Definitely not because he desperately wants Stiles to bend him over and fuck him until he forgets his own name. Theo knows it’ll never happen. At this point, Theo isn’t really sure if Stiles actually likes guys or if this is just his sick way of torturing him with something he can never truly have. 

Before this, Theo had only been moderately attracted to Stiles, just enough to make him look twice but now? Now he couldn’t look at Stiles without getting hard, without feeling the phantom taste of Stiles’ release on his tongue. 

Stiles’ hand is a blur of motion. Theo can hear his heart pounding in his chest, he drinks in the sight of Stiles’ balls rising, bathes himself in the heavy scent, and leans in with his mouth open wide. 

“Come here.” This is always the hardest part. 

It takes every ounce of restraint Theo has to lean forward, to take only the tip into his mouth because he knows Stiles won’t allow anything more. Theo braces himself, feels his own cock leaking in his pants, and resists the urge to take all of it down to the base, damn the consequences. 

But then Stiles might never summon him again.

Theo hates to admit that he needs this now. Theo’s constant exposure to the scent of Stiles’ arousal is ingrained into his being and he’s honestly not sure if he could go without it.

“ _ Fuck _ , I’m gonna-” Stiles breaks off, a litany of curses streaming past his lips, his entire body trembling as he comes messily into Theo’s waiting mouth. Theo sputters, forcing himself to breathe through his nose as shot after shot of warmth coats his tongue, swallowing it all hungrily. Theo doesn’t beg for more, he prides himself on that, on not allowing Stiles to know just how much he wants more, wants to be truly  _ used _ .

When Stiles finally stops shaking and his cock is spent, he pulls away, flopping back onto his bed with a sigh of relief. Theo doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, he savors the taste of Stiles on his lips. 

He’s never sure when he’ll be allowed to have this again. It could be tomorrow or it could be weeks from now, whichever Stiles deems to be more painful for him. 

“Why are you still here, Theo?” Stiles sits up, not bothering to cover himself, and looks down at him as if he were nothing more than a cockroach. 

“I-” Theo can’t look at him, not when his cock is still within reach, not quite hard but still thick and tempting. “Why are you doing this?”

Stiles huffs, getting to his feet, walking over to his closet, stripping off his shirt and tossing it into a nearby laundry basket. Stiles glares at him, his anger suddenly so potent Theo could choke on the acrid smell of it filling the room. “Because you hurt my friends, Theo.” Stiles stalks towards him, Theo shuffles backward on the ground until his back hits the wall. He shouldn’t be afraid, he’s easily stronger than Stiles but if Theo hurts him, Scott will know and any chance at joining the pack would be gone. “Scott’s eventually going to forgive you. He’s going to officially make you a part of the pack one day because that’s just who he is!”

Stiles’ foot comes down on his crotch so fast and unexpectedly, he cries out in surprise. A cruel smile crosses Stiles’ face. His eyes are dark in the soft lighting of his bedroom. He’s terrifying and sexy and Theo is feeling, in addition to pain, a complex variety of emotions he’d rather not deal with.

“But me? I don’t care that he came back to life, Theo. You did the one thing no one else managed to do and killed my best friend.” Stiles grinds his heel down harder, Theo bites his tongue to keep from groaning. “I’m doing this because I want you to know that no matter what happens, you will always be this. You’re always going to be nothing but my personal trash bin.”

Stiles steps away and makes his way to the bedroom door. “There’s a pack meeting tonight so I’m taking a shower to get your disgusting scent off me. Show yourself out and make sure you do the same.”

Stiles is out of the room without another glance in his direction, leaving Theo alone and far more emotionally distressed than he was comfortable being. It takes Theo longer than he cares to admit to pick himself up off the floor. He lingers in the bedroom, breathing in the residual scents and letting them wash over him. He eyes the bathroom down the hall, tilting his head to tune into the sound of running water.

Stiles would kill him if he opened that door, if he tried to push this further. With more resolve than he feels any right to have, Theo rushes out of the Stilinski house before he does something he might regret. 

Theo slams the door of his truck shut, runs his hands through hair in frustration and slams them against the dashboard hard enough to leave a dent. Before he can change his mind, and give Stiles anything else to use as ammunition, he starts the truck. His fingers grip the steering wheel considerably tighter than necessary, and he leaves. 

He doesn’t want to think about what Stiles said. He refuses to be the pathetic type of person who lets themself be used by someone who so clearly hates them. Some day, he’ll stop doing this. He’ll stop coming whenever Stiles calls.

Someday. 

Theo makes it back to his apartment in record time, sure that he left skid marks as he pulled into the parking space. Once at his door, he fumbles with his keys, hands still shaking. Somehow, despite blurring vision and shaking hands, he manages to open it, only to promptly slam it shut behind him.

That’ll probably result in another noise complaint but it’s not like he cares, he doesn’t care about  _ anything _ . Not about Stiles and his stupid fucking grudge, not about the pack and how much he needs them to stay safe in a place as twisted as Beacon Hills. He can’t afford to care. It’s not like any of  _ them _ care about him.

With a flick of his wrist, his car keys crash loudly on the kitchen counter and Theo strides into the living room, falling face first into the tan couch waiting there. It shouldn’t bother him. He knew that the whole point of this was thatStiles wanted to hurt him, wanted him to suffer. None of it should matter, compared to the real torture Theo’s been through. 

This should be nothing. 

Yet, somehow Stiles’ voice still lingers in his mind.  _ You’re always going to be nothing but my personal trash bin.  _

It’s demeaning and cruel and Theo hates himself for believing Stiles. He  _ deserves _ to be treated like this. Stiles is right, he hurt every one of them. Any of them would be justified in never wanting to speak to him again, fuck, never wanting to  _ look _ at him again. 

Aside from Scott, no one talks to him more than they need to and even that tends to be tense and filled with awkward silence. What exactly can he say to Scott after all of this?  _ Sorry, I killed you? Promise it won’t happen again _ ? He’s the last choice, only called on when absolutely necessary, and Theo can’t even bring himself to blame Scott for that. 

At least with Stiles he knows where he stands. Stiles’ duplicity is something he can rely on, something he understands. Playing both sides for personal gain is something he can relate to. Theo should know better,  _ does _ know better, but it doesn’t matter. He just keeps going back anyway, because Stiles smells like the one thing Theo knows he’ll never truly have.

He smells like the  _ pack _ .

The pack all smell like each other, their scents intermingling into one. Each of them have a natural scent underneath it, but they also smell like  _ Pack _ . He’ll never have that. So, he’ll take whatever Stiles is willing to give him even if it means degrading himself in ways that not even the Dread Doctors had thought of. 

So what if it leaves him feeling ashamed? So what if it leaves him aching and hard and filled with a longing that will never be satiated? That’s what he deserves.

Theo doesn’t question it when his hips start to move of their own accord. He doesn’t question it when Stiles’ name falls from his lips like a desperate plea as he thrusts against the couch seeking whatever meager friction it’ll provide. He doesn’t question it when an image of Stiles, hands around Theo’s throat and his cock buried deep inside Theo’s ass, flickers behind his eyelids. 

It’s nobody’s business but his own if he begs this phantom to praise him, to tell him that he’s good, that this is what he was made for. And when he comes, body going tight and screaming the name of someone who would gladly see him dead, he only feels somewhat jilted.

As the last of his orgasm ripples through him, Theo flips over onto his back. If possible, the sticky, steadily cooling feeling in his pants makes him feel even more disgusted with himself than before.

He rises from the couch and strips quickly, leaving his clothes on the couch to deal with later. The small bathroom down the hall is a welcome sight, something about the smooth linoleum tiles has always brought him a small degree of calm. He heads over to the shower and turns on the water, waiting until it’s scalding hot before stepping under the spray.

Theo barely feels the heat, at most it feels lukewarm despite the steam that fills the air. Since his return from Hell, he’s found it almost impossible to feel anything other than cold. The only thing that helps, the only thing that chases the cold from his skin is physical contact with other people. 

Theo hangs his head under the spray, letting it wash over him. Hoping against all hope that it might wash away his shame. Maybe, if he stands there long enough, it’ll wash it all away; the shame, the sick feeling of  _ deserving it _ , the sins he’d committed, the blood from his hands. Sadly, he’s stood in this shower for hours before, until the water had gone from steaming to icy cold, and none of those feelings ever left him.

None of them ever would.

He stands there unmoving until it’s too much. Until he breaks and curls into himself on the shower floor, until he can't keep from crying any longer. Until he’s staring down at the drain knowing that in a few hours he’ll have to pretend everything is alright, that being near Stiles doesn’t make him  _ ache _ .

It might fail at keeping him warm but if nothing else, Theo is thankful at the very least that the shower will wash away the evidence of his tears.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
